


Champagne Room

by Incog_Ninja



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, F/M, Pre-Zombie Apocalypse, Recreational Drug Use, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-08 10:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incog_Ninja/pseuds/Incog_Ninja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl Dixon/OFC, pre-ZA. It's Daryl Dixon's birthday and his brother decides to treat him to a night out at the local strip club. Then the new girl decides to get to know the Dixon Brothers a little better, contrary to her friends' recommendations.<br/>(Incomplete and on Permanent Hiatus)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This fic is meant for entertainment purposes only. I do not intend any offense toward anyone working in the sex industry, whether it be my perceived ignorance of the details or the depiction of the characters herein.
> 
> Daryl's a tad OOC (a little more Reedus than Dixon), but I like him, so he stays. :D This is the first of probably three or four chapters. Let me know what you think?

It was my first night at The Top in Gainesville, and things were already vastly different than they had been at Follies in the city, but the girls were all helping me get up to speed. One major difference between Gainesville and Atlanta: the number of patrons and amount of expendable income. I was worried I wouldn't make as much money at The Top, but my cousin Haley and her boyfriend were letting me stay with them until I got back on my feet. If it weren't for family, I'd be up Shit Creek without a paddle—like my daddy used to say.

Jessie Dell, one of the girls who'd been at The Top the longest, had warned me not to expect much on my first night, but it was payday at the Wrigley manufacturing company in town and, apparently, some redneck's birthday. When I peeked out from behind the curtain, I saw a ridiculous party hat on the head of a guy wearing a good amount of leather and causing a commotion. Then Jessie Dell pushed her way past me and through the door into our dressing area.

"Fuckin' Merle Dixon," she said with an eye roll and a flounce into a chair in front of the mirror before freshening her makeup. "I tell you what, if he even  _thinks_  about gettin' another hand job in the bathroom without paying, I will kick his ugly ass right out on the lawn."

"It's Daryl's birthday," Cheri said, as she puckered and pressed her lips together, evenly spreading her lipstick. "But, either of 'em best keep their hands t'themselves, if ya ask me."

"Daryl's here?" Madison piped up, peering through the curtain out onto the floor.

"Madison, unless you're a deer or a huntin' bow, that man ain't gonna pay you one bit of attention." Jessie Dell scoffed, then went back to preening. "Cheri and y'all just  _wish_ he'd try half the  _shtuff_  his brother tries."

It was weird to me that Jessie Dell talked about turning tricks with customers like it was something to enjoy. Whether I found a client attractive, or not, didn't weigh into my decision to take things into a private room; his money did. I wondered if the Dixons were particularly exceptional in some way, or if hooking up with customers was a common occurrence at The Top.

I joined Madison at the door and looked out with her. "Who's who?" I asked. She pointed to two men off to the side of the stage. "Merle's the one standin' over there in the party hat, waving his arms like a lunatic? And Daryl's sittin' down there at that same table." Her voice trailed off, dreamy and wistful, and I peered through the crowd where she indicated.

I couldn't see Daryl right off, but I saw Merle, the guy I'd noticed earlier, reach out and smack one of the waitresses on the ass then bellow in laughter before she turned around and smacked him back. Just as he lunged for her, I heard an unfamiliar voice from the crowd shout his name; then Booker, our doorman, was at the waitress's side in an instant. She waved Booker off, though, implying she'd handled it on her own.

The crowd shifted, and I finally saw the Birthday Boy, slouched in a chair, smoking a cigarette and paying an undue amount of attention to his sweating beer bottle. He barely seemed to acknowledge his brother's apparent rant over the waitress's reaction to his grabby hands, but I could tell he muttered something to his brother. Whatever it was had Merle leaning across the table and in his face before finally sitting down in a huff.

I couldn't make out much about either of them, but what I could see was certainly not spectacular in the least. Merle came off as your typical methhead/drunk/asshole/redneck, and his brother… well, he seemed like the typical younger brother of such a man. I idly wondered if either of them worked for Wrigley and was up for laying down some cash for a birthday celebration.

"Married?" I asked Madison, speculating about how much of the hypothetical paycheck would be spent at The Top that night.

"Are you kidding?" Madison laughed. "No—neither a them Dixons is married."

"Merle was a long time ago before he went to Desert Storm," Jessie Dell said. "But she took her kid and left just 10 days after."

"Can you even imagine  _Daryl_  Dixon married?" Cheri laughed, and the other two girls who knew him cackled along. "I mean… ya kinda have to  _talk_ to get to know someone well enough to marry 'em, don't ya?"

"Doesn't talk, huh?" I asked, vying for a better look at the guy they all seemed so interested in discussing, as he accepted a beer from the waitress, swatting his brother's hand away from where she bent over to clear their table, before he lit another cigarette. Each of his movements were fluid and unhurried, precise and deliberate.

"Darlin', don't be gettin' any ideas on your first night, okay?" Jessie Dell said, like she was reading where my mind was headed. She stood up from the mirror and crossed the room to meet me, lowering her voice. I had the idea the other girls had all received the same lecture from her at one point, and may or may not have heeded her advice. "Daryl Dixon ain't some amusement park ride or a dare in a child's game. Those Dixons are  _for real_. Take your time and get up to speed 'fore you go out and try to prove yourself in one night." She smiled and handed me a piece of gum.

I looked into her eyes, and it was clear that she believed the importance of her warning. I didn't know what the Dixons' story was, but I did take what she was saying into consideration. I glanced down and the Trident White pellet and grinned. "Tryna tell me somethin', Jessie Dell?" I joked about bad breath rather than calling her out on calling _me_  out, then popped the gum into my mouth. "Thanks."

* * *

"Please give a warm welcome to the new girl, our very own American Woman, Miss Savannah Lynn!"

I'd chosen a pretty standard song for my first dance, but it was also one of my favorites and it matched my sequined, patriotic bikini and skirt, so I felt a little more comfortable. I stuck mostly to the pole, but about halfway through the song, I decided I wanted a closer look at the Dixon Brothers. Right about when Lenny Kravitz was growling about "getting away" I took a waltz across the front of the stage.

When I got to the edge without the glare of the spotlight in my eyes, I shot a quick glance at the table where Daryl and Merle sat just 20 feet in front of me. There were two new men at the table, laughing with each other and with the waitress, Merle had his lap full of Jessie Dell, and Daryl had his eyes trained on my every move. Then he suddenly caught my gaze with his, and I almost tripped over my white, vinyl platform boots.

I'd seen that look before; he looked like he wanted me for supper. It was a hot stare—bright blue eyes, and something pure and untamed underneath it all. Suddenly Jessie Dell's words came rushing back to me, and I started to see what she meant about the girls wanting Daryl's attention and her warnings about being cautious of the outcome.

As my song wound down, the DJ called out, cueing my exit from the stage and Madison's entrance. Her song started up, and I scurried behind the curtain to make room for her.

"Good job, girl," Cheri said, handing me a towel and sliding into place to head out just after Madison. "How was it? How d'ya feel?"

"Good," I said, accepting the towel from her and patting down my forehead and chest. "It was… good."

"But…?" She ducked to catch my eye. "Some'n happen, darlin'?"

I shook my head, but it was time for her to head out, anyway. "Nothin'—just gettin' in the groove, I guess."

She nodded, distracted by her call, but squeezed my hand reassuringly. "Grab a soda. I'll be right back." Then Cheri disappeared, only to be replaced by Madison's chattering.

"Sarah, I'm so glad you're here," Madison hugged me, calling me by my given name. "Sometimes I just feel like nobody gets me, ya know? This is a great crowd, though, isn't it? We're gonna tear it up tonight, girl!"

We stood and watched Cheri's extended set before I shimmied out of my skirt and went out for another American-themed song. That time, I stuck entirely to the pole, but my eyes kept straying to Daryl where he sat stock still in his chair, swirling his bottle, spinning his Zippo, lipping his cigarette, watching me closely. I could almost feel his eyes touching my skin—his gaze was so intense.

After a few more songs, I asked Jessie Dell if she thought I should try going out onto to the floor. She stared at me for a few beats. "That's up to you, I guess," she said. "But don't be gettin' any ideas about them Dixons, like I said. I can handle Merle, but… just…" Jessie Dell heaved a sigh then rolled her eyes. "Ask Madison what happened last time she tried to go anywhere near Daryl Dixon, okay?"

I felt my eyebrows shoot to the ceiling, because I could only imagine what Madison would have to say. My heart started to race a little, thinking I'd come into this small town to be safe again and walked right into to Psychoville, instead. I turned to look at Madison and she shrugged.

"The boy don't like to be touched, Jessie Dell, it's that simple," she said, then turned to me. "It was last fall for Merle's Birthday, and they had the Champagne Room. I just wanted him to loosen up…"

"He shoved you off his lap and onto the floor, Madison Kaye," Jessie Dell huffed. "When are you gonna stop stickin' up for that redneck and his violent outbursts?"

"I ain't stickin' up for him, it is the plain truth," Madison enunciated succinctly. "I shoulda known better'n to put myself in his lap like that—'specially after he didn't even ask. I know he don't like attention. And then I tried unbuttonin' his shirt-"

"Good lord…" Cheri groaned from the mirror, where she was adjusting a platinum wig over her own darker blonde head. "Can we please talk about something other than Daryl Dixon's sexual dysfunction?"

"He is not dysfunctional; he's  _shy_!" Madison defended.

"Let's forget I said anythin', a'right?" Jessie Dell waved her hands in surrender, then turned an arched brow to me. "Just think first, Miss  _Savannah_ , 'fore you go sittin' in Daryl Dixon's lap, okay?"

"Point taken," I said with a quick nod to convey my understanding, but I was dumfounded. The impression I got from Daryl Dixon was not that he was shy or dysfunctional, but the expertly contained ferocity hovering behind his eyes and humming under every slight of his hand was apparent. With the new information in mind, I was even more intrigued—and cautious.

I liked to think I was a good judge of character. One of the reasons I left Atlanta was because of the quality of people I was working and dealing with. I wanted to come back to my roots. While I didn't grow up in Gainesville, rural Georgia was where I felt most comfortable—with the people and the environment.

I shrugged off any lingering nagging feelings about making a mistake by coming to Gainesville, and pushed my long, honey-blonde hair up into a short, pink bob wig, then switched out my American flag bikini for a black sequined Hello Kitty set. I kept my favorite knee-high platform boots on, though. The song changed to that Milkshake song that I hated, and I drew a deep breath before walking out onto the floor.

"Well, lookie here, bro," Merle Dixon's voice bounced through the air. "We got us some pretty, new pussy."

I internally rolled my eyes at his predictable Hello Kitty pun then flashed him a blinding smile. No matter how naked you got in the club, if you didn't establish some significant personality trait, you'd be a flash in the pan. In Atlanta, I was known for my natural smile, natural tits, and natural blonde hair; I kind of wanted to keep that reputation.

"Hi there, boys," I purred, right along with the act. "I heard it's somebody's birthday." My eyes zeroed in on Daryl's. He didn't say a word, but he didn't shy away, either. The supposed dysfunctional freak wasn't anywhere in sight at that point.

Merle leaned conspiratorially into my side. "That's my sweet baby brother you're talkin' 'bout, darlin." I feigned surprise and excitement—well, not so much feigning the excitement, since the closer I got to Daryl Dixon, the more I liked what I saw—and I gasped.

"Is that so?" I asked.

Merle nodded enthusiastically and went on and on about showing his brother a good time on his birthday if it killed him. "Boy's got a stick up his ass, if you know what I'm sayin', girl." Merle laughed some more, and I looked down at the table where there were several twenties and fifties in a pile. It was pretty clear that Merle Dixon had just gotten paid, and he seemed hell-bent on giving his brother a happy birthday.

"Aww, he doesn't seem so bad," I cooed, and adjusted Merle's party hat, while giving Daryl an up-close view of my backside, keeping him in my periphery. He really didn't seem so bad. He seemed quiet and sharp-eyed, and like he had to constantly balance his overbearing, drug-addict brother's antics. I amused myself thinking about what those two would have been like in school as kids and it was a lot like what I was seeing happen right at that moment.

Daryl watched me curiously, as I played with his drunkass brother. He smirked at the few jokes I made, and the way I deftly avoided Merle's grabby hands but accepted the tips he offered. When Jessie Dell came on the stage, Merle whooped and hollered and told everyone to "shut the hell up" so he could watch "his girl." Jessie ignored Merle, more or less, and gave a great performance.

I walked the floor and met several other customers, telling them a little bit about myself, which was customary—made some good tips, too. The whole time I felt Daryl's eyes on me. I looked up once or twice, and he didn't even pretend to look away—just kept on drinking his beer and smoking his cigarettes, like it was performance art. I started to feel like I should be tipping him for sitting there, looking so damn good.

"You make some rounds?" Jessie Dell asked when I came backstage. "Meet some folks?"

"I did," I said, contemplating a costume change for my last song. I decided on the black wig and leopard print bikini, and even changed my boots to black vinyl. "I'ma do one more song, and then… I thought about asking the Dixons back to a private room."

My last comment was met with silence, and I turned to see Jessie Dell, Cheri, and Madison all gaping at me with open mouths. "What?" I asked. "I just thought for Daryl's Bbirthday…"

"Girl, have you sustained a recent head injury?" Jessie Dell asked, shaking her head. "What did I tell you about them Dixons?"

"You told me to proceed with caution," I answered, shrugging and switching out my wig. "And they seem harmless to me. 'Sides, I was thinking we could make it a party—me, you, and Madison. Cheri, you said you had to go, right?"

Cheri nodded then looked to Jessie Dell. "Y'all took Merle back for his Birthday, Jess."

"I know it, but…" Jessie sighed and looked to Madison. "You a'right with this, darlin'?"

"'Course I am," Madison replied, fluffing her shiny, auburn hair. "Sarah seems to have a  _re-par-tee_  with 'im, anyway… I'm fine."

I worried my lower lip. The last thing I wanted to do was to alienate a new friend in town, and a co-worker to boot. And I liked Madison; I didn't want to hurt her. "You sure, Madison? I never wanted to get'n the way or anything."

"No, no, darlin', you're fine," Madison said, waving me off. "Don't even give it a second thought. But if y'all don't mind, I'ma bow outta here early, too. Can I get a ride home with you, Cheri?"

"'Course you can, hon," Cheri replied.

I looked at Jessie Dell. The mood in the room felt resolved, but Jessie still looked a sight tense. "Ya sure about this?" I asked. "I guess maybe I misunderstood, but I saw all that money on their table, and… I just thought it was a good idea."

Jessie shook her head and smiled. "You're right," she said. "It is a good idea. If Merle Dixon's gonna dump a buncha money, it'll be on that brother a his. You wanna ask 'im, or should I?"

I shrugged. I was fine dealing with Merle, but he seemed to be a regular of Jessie's, and I'd already stepped on Madison's toes, since she clearly liked Daryl, so I decided to let Jessie take the lead. "Dunno—whadda you think?"

"I think you should," she answered, straightening my new black wig. "Further assert yourself and drive that ol' dog up a tree." She laughed, then pulled my hands out to the sides and looked me up and down. "You're to die for, darlin'."

I grinned and got ready for my cue. My last song was Closer, another standard, another attempt at making me feel comfortable in my new place, and another chance to feel Daryl Dixon watch me, ready to pounce like a hungry wolf.

I felt invigorated by the new atmosphere and by the quick camaraderie with the girls, and, if I was being honest, by Daryl's attention. The girls had said he was distant at best, but I was getting a whole different vibe off of him. His eyes on me were like a live wire.

Once the song was over, I hopped down onto the floor, grabbed a towel from the side bar, and headed for the Dixons' table one last time. Before I could reach them, Merle was out of his seat and coming at me. "How much?" he asked, his nostrils flaring and beads of sweat dotting his upper lip.

I didn't know how much coke he'd done, but he looked like he was about to pop, and I wanted to keep him calm. I wasn't entirely surprised by his question, because his intent was written on his face, but I did want a little more detail before I answered definitively. "Can you be more specific, Merle? For what, exactly, are we talkin' about?"

Merle's grin split his face in what some might describe as a grimace, and I felt Daryl's eyes sliding over my skin. "You, me, and my brother in a private room." Merle advanced on me once more, but I was already like a butterfly on a pin from his stare alone, and the heat from Daryl's gaze burned me.

"Two-hundred—private dances from me and Candy Queen," I told Merle, referring to Jessie's stage name.

Merle moved in closer, crowding my space, his grimacing grin turning crooked and one single finger ran the edge of my low rise bikini bottoms; but I stood my ground.

"Don't recall sayin' anythin' 'bout Candy Queen or private dances, girl." He licked his teeth and smacked his lips, raking his eyes over me. "If I'm payin' two-hundred bucks, somebody's bustin' a nut."

"Merle." At some point, Daryl had moved from his seat, and I hadn't even noticed it. Merle's finger dropped away from my skin like I was a lightning rod, but he scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Where is that Candy girl, anyhow?" Merle mused, as Daryl and I silently sized each other up.

Standing straight and strong, broad shouldered, narrow hipped, arms and hands rough and sculpted from a hard day's work, hanging loosely at his sides—Daryl Dixon was the kind of man who knew how to use every inch of his body with the power, precision, and grace that can't be learned. Not even the best athletes in the world looked and moved that way, unless it was born to them. Right then I knew that not only were we going to the Champagne Room, but it was going to be a  _long fucking night_ —in every sense of the word.

"She's comin'," I answered Merle, my eyes traveling back up to Daryl's gaze, feeling it pour over me like warm, blueberry filling from my grandma's prized pie. I very nearly groaned out loud at the promises that were whispering from behind those eyes.

"Got the bubbly!" Jessie Dell sang out as she approached us, cheerfully redirecting Merle's quickly souring mood.

The other two guys, who I hadn't had a chance to never meet during my rounds, stayed behind as the four of us headed toward the back of the club. Daryl was next to me, and the heat of his body radiated from him as his hand brushed against my bare thigh to tap Merle on the shoulder before jutting his thumb to the side. "I'ma take a piss." His eyes dropped to mine once again. "Don't sneak off."

I shivered at the edge of warning in his tone, and took a moment to really analyze exactly what the fuck I was getting myself into. I was trying for a fresh start. I wanted to save money, maybe go back to school. I didn't know this guy from Dick, yet there I was, already planning ways to get him outside the club and inside my body as soon as possible.

"Here we are," Jessie Dell's cheerful voice was back, as she opened the door to the Champagne Room and waltzed through the door.

I turned my head to see if Daryl was coming and gasped when I found him right on my heels. His fingertips pressed hotly into the small of my back, and he propelled me forward. I'd seen the room earlier, but it all looked so different in candlelight and through my increasingly lust-filled haze. I watched Jessie Dell set up the bottles and glasses as best she could with Merle pawing at her. She finally handed him one of the bottles in a challenge, which he took on "like a man."

I turned to Daryl then and he was staring a hole through me, as he had been all night—cigarette in one hand, and beer bottle in the other. "Sit down, Birthday Boy." I waved to a chair in the corner with the most candlelight, right under one of the speakers. "I wanna give you a present." I smiled.

Daryl gnawed at his lower lip and shuffled his feet, took a sip of his beer, then turned and walked toward the chair as he finished his cigarette. Once he'd stubbed out his smoke and settled into the plush armchair, I let out a sigh of relief—but that was brief.

It was the look in his eyes that made me shiver again. Being a stripper means not getting turned on at work, not getting involved with your clients—even in the Champagne Room—but his eyes were making me forget where I was and that anyone else was there with us.

"Bring the bottle, too," he said, shaking another cigarette from his pack and catching it between his teeth. I swallowed a mouthful of Spumante and tried to blink away the spell he was casting. The room was so dimly lit that when his lighter struck, his face was a burst of light and shade, adding a whole new dimension to the colors in his eyes.

I grabbed the bottle of sugary bubbles and leisurely sauntered across the floor to where he sat sprawled in his chair, appearing relaxed but clearly not—one leg extended in front of him and the other bent, foot flat on the floor, fingers curled around the arm of the chair and his cigarette, respectively. He looked like he could bolt at any minute, but his face told a different story.

He followed my steps with his cool gaze for three beats, then slowly dragged it upward. I could feel his eyes, as I had from the first second he looked at me hours before, heavy and hot—full of rage and want—and I was endlessly intrigued by it; it excited me.

"You don't have a glass, darlin'," I said, coming to a full stop in front of his chair, the bottle swinging gently in my hand. I was used to standing over men in chairs; I felt comfortable there, empowered, even. I fed off the energy rolling off of him, and at that moment I felt high.

"Don't need no glass," he said, like I was new to the game of drinking. "Gimme that bottle,  _darlin'_." He sneered on the term of endearment, and it made me laugh that a southern man would be annoyed by such phrases. I'd never known one who didn't call every woman he met "darlin'", or "sweetheart", or "baby girl."

I extended my arm and he snatched the bottle immediately, then put his lips to the mouth of it, without breaking eye contact. His eyes were like sapphires in that candlelight, and I was mesmerized, couldn't remove myself from the moment enough to remain professional. He had barely touched me with his fingertips, yet I felt every pull he took from that bottle, from my chest to my gut, and it slowly spread across my hips, as his Adam's Apple bobbed with each gulp.

Daryl set the bottle on the side table with a  _clunk_ and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, watching me breathe. "How much he pay ya?" He gestured toward Merle, who was in the opposite corner with Jessie Dell. I didn't look to see what they were up to, but judging by the words coming out of Merle's foul mouth, Jessie was doing her job right.

"Does it matter?" I asked, slowly inching closer to his lap. Something told me I wasn't going to wind up on my ass like Madison, but I couldn't be too careful. "You're inside the room now."

"Yeah, it fuckin' matters." Daryl shifted in his seat and shot me a hard look. "I wanna know if I'm gettin' my brother's money's worth."

I leaned forward, slowly, resting my hands on the arms of the chair. "Darlin'…" I let the pet name sink in, and he all but snarled at me. "I promise that you  _will_  get your money's worth—both a ya." Then I took one last step, and slowly planted my knee beside his hip in the chair. My hips jutted forward ever so slightly, and that was the first time I could recall seeing him pull his eyes from mine.

He watched my hips and licked his lips. His hands stayed steady, elbows planted in the arms of the chair just inches from my hands, as he smoked and spun his lighter. He silently watched as I gave him a bona fide lap dance—one of my very best.

He didn't touch me, and I didn't touch him—except the occasional knee or thigh to his leg—and it was the single hottest experience of my entire life. I'd given hundreds of lap dances; I'd had boyfriends and plenty of sex; but I'd never sensed from just a look or feeling that someone wanted me as much as Daryl Dixon wanted me right then.

On one downward sweep, I could feel how hard he was, and he flinched. I snatched one of his constantly burning cigarettes from his fingers and took a drag, then arched my neck and exhaled, handing his cigarette back to him. Three songs in, and I was burning up. I knew I couldn't fuck him while we were still in the club, but I'd be damned if I let a client get me this riled up without any release at all.

"Touch me," I said, dropping my gaze to his. He stared for a few beats before pocketing his Zippo, then his calloused fingers wrapped around my knee and tentatively slid up toward my hip. The outside of my thigh sizzled under his simple touch. I sighed and settled firmly in his lap, and he groaned.

"More," I breathed, moving my hands from the arm of the chair to the back, right over his shoulders—and  _my God_ , his shoulders. I could spend hours this close to him and never get used to his body and his heat and his eyes riveting me in place—and his hands, once he'd abandoned his cigarette, as they finally,  _finally_ , encased my hips. " _Yes_."

I ground over him, where he was so fucking hard, and I felt the friction from my bottoms slipping and sliding between my legs. He kept his hands steady, guiding me over him in a rhythm all his own, and I let him. I never touched him, though, not once with my hands, but I could feel his breath on my neck and his fingers bruising my hips. My own breaths started coming in short puffs of air.

"Baby…" I breathed in his ear. "You're gonna make me come." I whined on that last word, because he swiveled my hips a little wider and I felt a blast of pleasure from between my thighs shoot straight up and out across my belly and chest. I gripped the back of the chair and dropped my forehead to his, as my fingertips tingled and my hips shook.

I came to full awareness with Merle shouting his own gratification from across the room, and Daryl's fingers loosening from my skin. I'd come in his lap, fully clothed, and he'd barely touched me. And he was still hard between my legs.

" _Damn_ , boy, where you been all my life?" I whispered in Daryl's ear, then pulled back slowly, contemplating how to get his pants undone before our hour was up—that's what he was there for after all, but he was tricky. I was good at my job, though, so I knew I could do it; it would just take some finessing.

"Tell me what ya want," I said, risking the venture of willfully touching him—first his shoulders, then his chest, then my fingers slowly ran down over his stomach and into his lap. He closed his eyes while I did it, tilted his head back, and relaxed into the chair—his arms thrown wide. He wasn't just letting me touch him; he was loving it.

"Tell me, baby," I whispered, because something told me he didn't want to be loud like his brother across the room. "Tell me what you want. I'll do it—anything." I placed a small, light kiss to broad, distinct collarbone, and he shivered.

"Yeah?" he asked, his fingers trailing up my thighs and lightly tracing the leg openings and the low waist of my bottoms. "Anythin', huh?"

"Yes," I hissed, beginning to move again, feeling him hard and hot between my thighs. He let me kiss his skin, but I didn't try to kiss his lips. And then he started talking.

"Don't know if I can have  _anythin'_  I want, seein's how what I  _want_  isn't really on the menu, now is it,  _baby_?" His hands traveled over my hips and ass and gripped me tight, thumbs curling around my cheeks and slipping under the fabric that covered me. A shudder rooted in my chest vibrated outward at his tone, the soft rumble of his voice, and his words. There was very little that wasn't on the menu in the Champagne Room at The Top, and most of it was unspoken rule.

"Maybe I got a birthday special," I said, pulling his ear lobe between my lips, and feeling his fingertips slip through my wetness, then backward between my ass cheeks. Daryl Dixon didn't mince words or waste time—that was for damn sure. "Fuck," I gasped, when his fingers pressed harder against my back opening, alternating from where I was soaking through my bottoms to where he wanted to be.

"Gonna gimme my special here?" he asked, putting his lips against my skin for the first time that night. They burned me and distracted me, and pushed me so far outside my mind that all I could think about was giving him everything and anything  _right fucking now_. His wet fingers continued to nudge and slide around inside my bikini bottoms. Then Merle shouted again, and I came back to my senses.

"Not here," I said, bucking back against his hand and whining. "But… shit, baby, I don't know where, but I want you. So bad."

He turned his head and ran his lips over the thin skin of my throat, licking and nipping. "I know where." He slowly pulled his fingers out of my bottoms and settled his hands on my hips, pushing me back on my haunches. Then he reached up and pulled my wig from my head and dropped it to the floor. "Leave that, and let's go."

* * *

Daryl turned the knob then stepped aside, letting me walk across the threshold first. I felt his eyes on my backside as I walked through the door. We passed the staircase and walked down the hall. Just before the great room at the back of the house, there was a kitchen to the left. His hand gripped my shoulder and guided me through the doorway. I reveled under the warmth and strength in just his hand. I wanted both of his hands on me—everywhere.

When I decided back at the club that I wanted Daryl—not just professionally, and not just for his birthday, but really wanted him—it wasn't the most rational decision I'd ever made. But I felt safe with him, even alone, 10 miles outside of town, in a stranger's kitchen. My body hummed with excitement from that little edge of danger, but I knew the difference between feeling in fear for my life and feeling stimulated by something new and different.

The kitchen looked like a disaster area. Daryl had told me that he was a carpenter and was working on this guy's countertops, and that the guy was a total dick about it. I could see the evidence of Daryl leaving all kinds of shit lying around on the counters just to annoy his client.

"Is anybody here?" I asked, as he dragged his hand from my shoulder to my hip, and his other hand rested on the opposite side. "I mean…" He pulled my hips back into his and kissed my neck and shoulder where my shirt had slid to one side. "Obviously not right now, but…"

"Darlin'," he said, a smile apparent in his voice, asking for my attention.

"Yeah?" I was breathless, but I chuckled at his use of the term.

"We're all alone," he mumbled against my skin, and a shiver ran down my spine. "'S just you and me."

I had a bottle of the Asti Spumante and a bottle of lube in my bag and they thumped against each other and the wooden base of the kitchen island, when he pushed me forward. Judging by the buzz in the air and as fast as I came at the club, I knew we didn't need a lot of foreplay to get where either of us needed to be, but  _damn_  he was persistent. I mused to myself that his brand of persistence was actually a huge turn on, a kind of foreplay, in and of itself. His quiet, hands-off confidence and determination was what got us there in the first place—that and his eyes.

I braced my hands on the granite countertop in front of me and dropped my chin to my chest, loving his lips and teeth on my neck and shoulders, and his rough hands as they slowly slipped up under the hem of my shirt.

That was what I'd missed in Atlanta—the good ol' boys, the self-made men who worked with their hands and backs, who didn't fuck around with words that didn't matter, who didn't play like they wanted to buy you diamonds and furs, when all they really wanted was your ass. I missed those hands on me, strong and unyielding, unapologetic in their roughness and insistence, and wanting it all. I missed the smell of a man like Daryl Dixon—ever-present diesel and something like the outdoors.

"Get that bottle out," he muttered then bit into the shell of my ear. "We need t'celebrate." I pushed back into him. Even with my boots on, Daryl was taller than me. His cock, hard beneath his fly, brushed against the small of my back.

I reached inside my bag and grabbed both bottles, because they were both tools for celebration in my opinion, before dropping my bag to the floor. Then Daryl pulled my shirt up and my arms over my head. He let my shirt fall where my bag sat and immediately unfastened my bra and tossed it over his shoulder.

"Fuck, I been wantin' to do this all night, girl." His hands cupped my breasts more gently than I would have expected, until he pulled my nipples between the big knuckle on each of his forefingers and the pads of his thumbs. The pleasing pain was excruciating, and I couldn't contain my voice. "That's right, baby girl," he whispered in my ear and pulled harder at my nipples. "Get loud. Ain't nobody 'round for miles."

And, damn, he was a talker once I got him alone. He was going to spend his time doing exactly what he wanted to me and telling me all about it.

He used one hand to work my tits, his mouth was at my neck, and his other hand traveled down my belly and between my legs. He didn't waste time pulling my panties down from under my skirt, just past my ass, just enough to get access to everything he wanted. Then his fingers were sliding down the front of my wet slit.

"God," I moaned. I was still wet from the very first time I saw him up close, and I was still swollen from our dry hump at the club. He hooked two fingers up inside me and squeezed, pressing the heel of his hand over my clit then circling it. "Jesus  _Christ_ , Daryl."

"I want ya good and ready for me,  _darlin'_." He nuzzled into my neck then nipped at my skin. "Gonna need t'be for what I got planned." He slipped those two curled fingers in and out of me in time with his hard-pressing palm over my clit, all while licking and biting at my skin, and pulling my nipples tight. I gripped the counter and tried not to collapse when my knees started to shake and my gut quaked. Daryl was breathing hard in my ear and I was yelling about him being a son of a bitch, when my pussy clenched hard around his fingers.

I was out of breath again, bracing myself on the counter as he took his fingers and mouth away from my body, but he didn't go far, reaching for the bottle of bubbly on the counter next to us. I hazarded a glance over my shoulder. He stood upright, licked the fingers of his right hand, then deftly popped the cork of the cheap Italian wine. The bottle exploded and sprayed between us, down my bare back and splashing on my ass.

"Ah, now, look a'that," Daryl made a mockery of a sympathetic voice. We both knew he wasn't sorry for getting me so wet and sticky. "Gotta clean you up, girl. You're a mess." He held the bottle in one hand, then bent forward to pull a sip of the wine that had pooled in the arch of my back. "Damn, that's good," he muttered, and then he was on his knees.

I heard the bottle hit the floor with a soft  _thud,_  then felt his hands on the backs of my thighs, pushing upward, squeezing, his thumbs slipping between my cheeks. Before I could say a word I felt his tongue swipe along one cheek and over my tailbone to the other cheek, then his teeth slowly sank into my flesh. I swore out loud and dropped my head to the counter, my hands splaying out in front of me, knocking papers and plans and pens and tiny plastic wrappers to the floor.

Daryl pushed my skirt up higher, tucking it into its own waistband. Then I felt more wine, and that time it wasn't an accident; it slowly trickled from my tailbone, over my cheeks and everywhere in between. "That is the prettiest waterfall I ever seen," he said, before taking another mouthful of my skin, swirling his tongue around the area he'd abused with his teeth. "And that's the best tastin' Georgia peach I ever had."

"Wastin' all that wine," I gasped and bucked back against him again.

"Fuck that." He kissed my hip and bit me. "Ain't a waste."

His fingers were back—three of them—slipping from my clit, curling and swirling, gathering all that wetness, and pulling it back, as he stood. Then he slid just the tips, one at a time, slow and patient, inside my back opening. I laid still, letting him work me. I had nothing left to give; I just wanted to receive. I widened my stance when I felt him slip his forefinger in past the tip to the first knuckle then twist.

"This's one fine ass, girl," he said, his voice sounding soft and lazy, but undeniably determined.

"What're you gonna do with it?" I teased, pushing back, feeling his finger sink deeper, then pull out.

"'S my birthday," he said with a loud, hard smack to one ass cheek, and I yelped. "Reckon I'm gonna do just about anythin' I want." Then he landed a backhand smack to my other ass cheek before gripping both my hips in his hands. "Gimme the other bottle."

He was pushing all of my buttons, and it felt like a dream. I pushed myself up and turned to hand him the lube. He was as efficient as always with popping the top and squeezing the liquid out and down between my cheeks. I felt the cool slide and then his fingers, two that time, push inside. It was tight and it stung and I fucking loved it.

"Daryl," I breathed, pushing back on instinct.

"Nuh-uh,  _darlin'_ , we ain't going back now." He pushed his fingers further and slowly twisted them again. His other hand swiped my hair to the side, and over my shoulder, then slid down my back, over my bunched up skirt and grabbed my hip.

"I don't… fuck, no—I don't wanna go back." My voice shook. "I want you.  _Now_."

I heard him chuckle lightly and his hand tightened on my hip before his other hand pulled away from me. He crouched behind me again while I rested my head and cleared my mind and prepared myself for what was to come. I listened to him rummage through my bag, tear open a condom package, then stand again and fumble with his belt and pants. The cold metal of his buckle bumped against my thigh and I hissed. Then his hands were on me again and I was being lifted up and draped over the counter.

"That's a good girl." His hand smoothed over my ass and my legs dangled toward the floor. I pushed my palms into the countertop and re-situated myself, my body quickly heating the cool granite under me, but not before my abused nipples tightened against it.

Daryl used a foot to drag a saddle-style stool over underneath the overhang of the counter and encouraged me to step on the rungs. "You're gonna need that." His hands never left me, though, and soon I felt his cock nudging between my cheeks.

I squirmed and tried to gain some kind of leverage, planting my booted feet on the lowest rung of the stool, straddling it, keeping my legs spread, and propping myself up onto my forearms. Then he was pushing slowly inside, stretching and burning, forcing the air from my lungs and every sound I could imagine over my tongue and lips.

" _Fuck_ ," he swore quietly, once he was all the way inside. His hands laid still and calm on the small of my back, thumbs drawing small, light circles at the base of my spine. We both just breathed for a minute, and I could feel every inch of him inside me. "Ya good?" he asked.

I took two more breaths, then nodded.

When he pulled back I couldn't breathe again; it felt like he was drawing everything out of me with that smooth, slow motion. Then he pushed back in again and I let go of a long, hot, breathy sigh. "Oh, my  _fuck_..." I said a lot of things as he pushed and pulled, and his hands kept me in place. I didn't even recognize my own voice when he sped up—long, hard thrusts, my palms skidding against the cluttered granite counter. "I need... Daryl... please—I can't..."

He must've read my mind, because within seconds, he slid one hand around in front of where we were joined and slipped two fingers in a V over my clit and just held them there, letting his thrusts guide the rhythm. I was out of my fucking mind. Then he curved his middle finger down and inside my cunt, keeping pressure on my clit with his palm, holding me steady with his other hand, and taking me hard. Seconds later, I came again—loud and long.

I don't remember much after that, except his fingers digging into my hip and him thrusting three more times, harder than I thought was possible for me to take. And his voice—rapt and breathless, calling out my name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I'm gonna do a little switcharoo with the POVs in this fic. Let's try Daryl on for size, shall we? Don't forget this is AU-Daryl Dixon, so some things that aren't necessarily canon might pop up. Oh, and there's a Boondock Saints reference in here. Lemme know if you can pick it out?
> 
> Enjoy!

"Yo, Birthday Boy—have y'self a good time?" Merle's rasp of a voice was the first thing I heard when I walked through the door. He'd been living with me for about six months, and wasn't leaving any time soon. My party the night before was his way of making up rent.

"Yep," I answered, opening the fridge for a beer. There was one left from the case Merle had bought. I popped the bottle open and walked into the dimly lit living room, the early morning sun just streaming through the blinds. Merle sat drinking and smoking, and watching some fishing show. If you knew him or not, you could feel the tension rolling off of him; but it was always that way with him, and I'd learned to cope through the years.

The second I pulled out of The Top's parking lot the night before, with Sarah in my truck and Merle throwing a fit in my rearview mirror, I knew that he'd be waiting for me when I got home; on top of the fucking eight ball he'd kept mostly to himself, he was pissed I'd left him behind.

"That whore give you my money's worth?" he asked, swinging a glance in my general direction, but never really focusing.

I bit my tongue like I always did—had to choose each word carefully, and even then I couldn't guarantee he wouldn't explode. I didn't like the way he talked about Sarah the night before when he came up with the idea to take her into a private room, and I still didn't like it. But I hedged his question instead of taking him head on.

"She's sweet," I answered, taking a sip of my beer and a seat on the couch. I untied my boots and kicked them to the side. We sat quiet for a few minutes, while Merle stared at the TV and played with his lighter. Just when I thought he was going to let it go, he spoke again.

"Sweet, huh?" he slurred, turning his unfocused gaze and sneer back on me. "You taste that pussy?" I could tell right then, if I kept up any part of the conversation, I wasn't getting out of there without some bullshit going down, so I decided to head to my room. I was tired anyway.

I nodded in answer to his question just to chill him out before getting up and heading down the hall. "I'ma get some sleep," I said, taking my beer with me. "Thanks again for last night, bro." Merle mumbled something incoherent as I closed my bedroom door.

I tossed my phone on my bedside table and shucked my clothes until I was down to my underwear, then collapsed on the bed. I was fucking beat. That girl had taken it out of me, no two ways about it. She gave as good as she got, too. Damn.

I looked at my phone, laying there, like the plain, practical thing it was, and thought about the pictures I'd taken of Sarah the night before. I couldn't believe she let me; she liked it, even. Shit, she was kinky as fuck, and I wasn't even paying her for that part.

She was fucking sexy as Hell—like  _real_  sexy, not made-up, painted on, acrylic nails, and fake tits. She was smart, too, but not a bitch about any of the good things about her, like so many girls could be. I could tell the second she walked out on stage that she'd be a hot fuck, too, just by the way she moved and held her head high. Girls who looked like her didn't fake coming on a cock; they loved every minute of it. And it'd been way too long since I'd had an ass that sweet and true.

Merle had seen me watching her and he started in on me right away. Then she came over and talked to us—all pretty smiles, and perfect ass and tits, and eyes that told me she wasn't nobody's fool. Merle did a few more lines, and the next thing I knew he was talking about a gang bang. I told him I didn't want Buck and Carson, the two guys that were there with us, in on my action. Merle gave me more shit about being a princess on my birthday and not sharing my toys, but I knew what I wanted, and I wanted her ass all to myself.

By the time we'd made our way back to the private room, I could smell her, she was so wound up and wet and I hadn't even started working on her yet. I fucking loved that smell. When she climbed into my lap, I could feel how hot and wet she was, and as much as I hate those fucking pet names, I knew she meant it when she called me "baby." Then she came in my lap and I hadn't even touched her. All I could think about was how hard and loud she'd come once I got my dick inside her, and I almost came in my fucking pants.

She'd made a point to tell me once we'd left The Top that she was off the clock, and she couldn't wait to get me alone. I almost pulled over to the side of the road and fucked her in the cab of my truck, but I wanted her on that granite countertop in the kitchen of that asshole client. I wanted to fuck her on every surface in his house, but I knew we wouldn't have time for all that. As long as I got her ass that night, I had time for more later. And, damn, did I get her ass... She was begging for it.

After we'd left the bar, she told me her real name, and that she'd just moved to Gainesville from Atlanta—that she was living with her cousin. She didn't twitch and squirm around when she talked like so many girls her age did. She used simple words—no frills and no airs. She didn't fuck with the radio or twist her hair or ask me my mama's name. And the look on her face when she saw my scars… most girls freak, but Sarah just traced them with one of her nice, little fingers, kissed them, then looked up and asked me where they came from. I told her it was just a fucking bar fight, and she was satisfied with that answer, I guessed.

I grabbed my phone from the table and started scrolling through the pictures. She looked so good, buck naked, wet from the shower, no makeup, smiling up at me like she had a secret.

I reached down and grabbed my dick; I was getting hard again remembering the way she felt and tasted and how she sucked my cock. I thought about calling her, but I knew she had to work that night, so she probably needed her rest—especially after the night we'd had. I decided my hand and the pictures on my phone would have to do.

I thought about her standing in front of me in that shower while I sat on the side of the tub, her leg thrown over my shoulder, and her back against the wall, with my face buried in her pussy. She'd already come three times before that—fuck, she came easy—but I wanted her to come again and again and a-fucking-gain.

We used some of that asshole's ritzy shower gel, and got nice and clean before I sat down and licked her soft and slow. I'd worked her ass so hard on the counter in the kitchen, and she'd fucking taken it like a damn trooper. That girl was built to last, like a brick house, and all natural—curves everywhere, but so small; my fingers and thumbs touched when I wrapped them around her waist.

She slid the one foot she had on the floor of the tub to the corner to brace herself, but I told her I had her, and she trusted me. I leaned into her, cupping that fine, fine ass in my hands, and opening up her pretty pussy with just my thumbs and my mouth. She made all kinds of sounds, tried gripping the wall behind her, then settled her hands in my wet hair. She came in my mouth with a sweet, little whimper, instead of calling me a son of a bitch like she had earlier, when I was fucking her pussy with my fingers. She came a different way every time.

I dropped my phone next to me on the bed, remembering how she dropped to her knees between my legs, her face flushed and water dripping from her long, blonde hair. She looked up at me with those sleepy, green eyes and took my cock in her mouth then down her throat, sucked and stroked and… the sounds she made— _fuck_.

I shut my eyes tight, coming on my own hand and seeing in my mind how I came on her perfect fucking tits, as the water ran cold.

* * *

Sarah

I crept into the house, carrying my boots and my bag just as the sun was coming up. I'd only been staying with Haley and her boyfriend Justin for a few weeks, but it was long enough for me to be used to the fact that he was always awake before I was.

I ducked into the guest room and dropped my stuff on the floor before changing out of the clothes I'd worn on my date with Daryl. I called it a date in my head because I didn't know what else to call it officially—other than mind-blowing.

Not only did he have a big, hard cock and know exactly what to do with it, but there was this constant energy between us that kept me right on the edge. I couldn't get enough of him in that short time. When he dropped me off at the club so I could get my car, he grabbed my phone and called his own number before tossing it back in my bag without a word. I guessed he couldn't get enough either.

I pulled my hair up into a ponytail as I shuffled down the hall to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face and brush my teeth. I heard movement from Haley's and Justin's room. I wanted to get cleaned up and into the kitchen to make coffee for Justin. They'd been way beyond nice and accommodating, so I tried to do everything I could to repay them.

As the coffee brewed, I pulled eggs and butter from the fridge. Justin came around the corner and looked surprised. "Mornin'," he mumbled. "What're you up to s'early?"

"Had a late night," I replied. "Just got in, started coffee, and makin' some eggs. Ya want some?"

Justin bobbed his head and crossed the room for a cup to pour himself some coffee. "Thank ya, darlin'." He kissed my cheek before scooping up the newspaper I'd brought in with me just a few minutes before.

"Scrambled sound good to you?" I asked, and Justin nodded, sipping his coffee and already seeming to be into his paper. He shook a cigarette from the pack on the kitchen island, and I suddenly wondered if he knew Daryl Dixon. There was a little voice inside my head, though, that told me to be careful with how much I said. "Hey, you know Merle and Daryl Dixon?" I tried to be sly.

Justin looked at me with a quirked brow, a half-lit cigarette hanging from his lips. He paused and watched me for a second before snorting, nodding reluctantly, then fully lighting his Marlboro. "Why d'ya ask? They causin' trouble again?"

I turned back to my eggs and shook my head. "No trouble—just wonderin'… They were in last night. It was Daryl's birthday."

"Yeah, well…" Justin took a deep drag from his cigarette. "You best watch yourself around them Dixons, ya hear?"

I nodded and shivered, thinking about watching Daryl watch me—about him touching me and fucking me into his client's granite counter. Those were details I definitely wasn't sharing with Justin.

"Toast?" I asked, reaching for the bread from the breadbox.

"Yeah," Justin replied. "We got juice, too?"

I peeked into the refrigerator. "Grapefruit—that good?"

Justin shrugged. "It'll do."

"Mornin', y'all," Haley's bright voice called as she entered the kitchen. "What on earth has gotten into you, girl?" She wrapped her arm around my waist and kissed my cheek. She hugged me with such enthusiasm, jolting my tired and slowly stiffening muscles, it reminded me again of just a few hours before.

"Just wanted to do somethin' nice for y'all," I replied, bumping my hip into hers as she reached for a mug and filled it with coffee.

"But it's so early, darlin', ain't you tired?" She joined Justin at the kitchen island and kissed him on the head as he handed her a section of the paper. "How was last night, anyway? D'ya make some friends? That Jessie Dell's a sweetheart; you'll have fun with her."

I was used to Haley firing off multiple questions at once. She was high-energy and engaging, and it was usually fun—especially when we were kids—she was the life of the party, and she always knew how to make a person feel interesting. At the moment, though, I was feeling put on the spot. I wanted to keep last night all to myself, but that was only because I hadn't processed everything yet. I could still smell Daryl on my skin—still feel him inside me. He'd made a lasting impression, that was for sure, but there were other things I could tell her about the night before.

"I'm tired, yeah, but it was a really good night," I answered honestly. "Jessie Dell's a sweetie, for sure. I like all the girls."

We chatted over our eggs and toast until Justin had to fill his travel mug to leave for the day. He'd been mostly quiet since Haley took over the conversation, but as he walked out the door, he looked me in the eye. ""Member what I said about them Dixons. If ya don't wanna listen to me, ask your cousin here." Then he kissed a stunned Haley goodbye and walked out the door.

Haley quietly blinked twice, and I tried to busy myself with the dishes. "Wanna tell me what that was about?" she asked, but I kept working on the dishes. "Sarah Jane, you look at me when I'm talkin' to you."

I turned my head over my shoulder and shot her a quick glance and a smile before refocusing on the dishes. "It was nothin'. I just asked Justin this mornin' if he knew 'em, that's all. They came in last night." I shrugged it off, but I could feel Haley shooting daggers at my back. I knew I couldn't fool her, but I needed some time to sort out what had happened with Daryl.

Haley was at my side, then, looking me over. She reached out and brushed her thumb over my neck where it met my shoulder, chewing furiously on her bottom lip. "Which one of 'em gave ya that?" She looked worried.

"What?" I asked, dropping the pan I'd used for the eggs into the soapy water and retreating to the bathroom with Haley hot on my heels.

"Please,  _please_  tell me you did not sleep with Merle or Daryl Dixon," Haley called after me. "Please."

I flipped the light switch and lunged toward the mirror, inspecting my neck. "Shit," I cursed, pulling at the skin and spinning around to see if he'd left any more marks in visible places. Sure enough, Daryl had left three sizable hickies around my neck and shoulders—and God only knows where else.

"Sarah!" Haley practically shouted for my attention.

"I did not  _sleep_  with Merle or Daryl Dixon," I said, sighing and looking into the sink for answers. I could cover the marks with makeup at work, but what was I supposed to do when I had to go to the grocery store—look like a victim of a vampire attack? It was summertime in Georgia; I couldn't wear a turtleneck or a scarf.

"Look. At. Me." Haley strongly enunciated each word. I looked up at her in the mirror, hoping that the conduit of her reflection would somehow lessen the intensity of what she was sure to say. "Don't be a smartass," she continued. "Did you have sex with either of those men?"

I stared at her for three silent breaths before she rolled her eyes and threw her hands in the air. "Did none of those girls tell you? What the  _hell_ , Sarah Jane? I know Jessie Dell'd tell you what was up!"

I rolled my own eyes and turned to leave the bathroom, but Haley followed me into the guest room. "Yes," I huffed, nervously tidying things in my room that didn't really need tidying. "Jessie told me to  _be careful_ , but that's all she said. And then she came in the Champagne Room with us, so… I just don't see what the big deal is." I took to the basket of clean laundry to fold, as Haley stared at me from the doorway, holding her forehead in her hand like her brains might fall out.

"The big deal is… those men are bad news, Sarah Jane." Her voice was soft, and her face was serious. "Bad, bad news."

Madison and Cheri had both talked or acted about Daryl like he was a prize to be had. Jessie Dell cautioned me, but she eventually gave in, and none of them seemed to be able to give me any real reason why I shouldn't go with my gut and have a good time with him. The quiet nagging voice in the back of my mind was finally screaming from the tone and sadness in Haley's simple words.

I slowly folded one last T-shirt and laid it on the bed, then sat and asked Haley to join me.

"It was Daryl's birthday," I said, watching as she settled beside me, then reached out for my hand. "I don't… I don't know what to say. I just… I wanted him." Haley squeezed my hand in hers, studying me closely, quietly listening. "And,  _my God_ , Haley, he's… he felt so good and so right—I didn't think there was anythin' wrong with it."

It had been a very long time since I'd had sex of any kind for fun or pleasure, let alone enjoyed the intensity I'd had with Daryl. After he took my ass so hard on the countertop in the kitchen, he undressed me the rest of the way, took me up to the master bedroom for a shower, and went down on me with an unhurried tenderness that blew my mind.

"Sarah…" Haley caught my eye again, as I was starting to clearly lose focus on our conversation, thinking about how good Daryl had been to me. "Sarah, he…" She closed her eyes and shook her head, then looked me straight in the eye again. "Daryl Dixon killed a man, Sarah Jane."

I blinked, and the warm, fluid vibration that had taken up residence deep in my belly from the first second I saw Daryl Dixon the night before, was suddenly frozen in place.

Minutes later, Haley and I had sat back down at the kitchen island after she rummaged through one of the drawers and produced a newspaper clipping. The thing was light as a feather, but felt like it weighed a hundred pounds as I read.

**Man Charged with Involuntary Manslaughter in Bar Fight Death of Gainesville Man**

_Police say Daryl James Dixon of Westside, punched Zeke Reynolds, who fell and hit his head on the cement at a Gainesville bar and died three days later._

A Westside man has been charged in the death of a Gainesville man after a bar fight in Gainesville, according to police.

Officials charged Daryl James Dixon, 35, with involuntary manslaughter, a 10-year felony, in Northern District Court at 10 a.m. Friday, according to Gainesville Police. Dixon was being housed at Hall County Jail on a parole detainer from Gainesville Parole, police said. He is now being held on a $100,000 bond, according to police. His court date is at 8:30 a.m. November 1 at 52-2 District Court in Gainesville.

Police responded to a call from The Top in Gainesville for an assault complaint on Friday, October 12. Officers arrived and found 43-year-old Zeke Reynolds of Gainesville, lying unconscious outside the bar, according to a press release from Gainesville police.

Rescue crews transported the victim to Northeast Georgia Medical Center, where he never regained consciousness and was pronounced dead on Monday, according to police.

Police say Dixon punched the victim in the face during an altercation, causing Reynolds to fall backward and slam his head on the cement, resulting in a severe brain injury.

Fox 5 News Gainesville reported that witnesses said Dixon was looking out for his older brother during an argument on the bar patio, and that Reynolds pulled a knife on them.

"Merle Dixon ain't my favorite person in the world, but Daryl's a good guy. He was just defending hisself and his brother," The Top owner Beau LeRue told Fox 5 in the article.

Dixon stayed at the scene until Gainesville Police arrived and arrested him. He has a prior record for one simple assault charge and disturbing the peace.

* * *

Daryl

"Well, we just had ourselves two good nights in a row, huh?" I knew that voice, it belonged to that little redhead, and she was yammering away as the back door to the club opened. "This economy's been eatin' up our tips."

I felt like a dick for shoving that little girl off my lap like I had a few months before, but she was doing that circus sideshow bullshit so many bitches try, wanting to see my scars and hear the whole story. Not a lot happens in this town, so bar fights—especially ones that end in death—are a big deal.

"Maybe things're looking up," Sarah replied.

Then I saw them come around the corner, the little redhead talking a mile-a-minute with her hands and Sarah smiling and nodding her head, listening while she dug through her bag.

I hopped down off the open tailgate of my truck where I was waiting for her and they both looked my way. The little redhead stopped in her tracks, and Sarah slowed her pace, looking me up and down. Her smile changed, too—like she was remembering something. Maybe she was remembering the night before like I'd been playing it in my head all fucking day.

"Hey, Daryl," the little redhead called out. I nodded in answer, but I kept my eyes on Sarah, and Sarah kept her eyes on me.

"What're you doin' here?" Sarah asked, that little smile from the pictures playing on her face. She was definitely thinking about the night before.

I shrugged then reached in my shirt pocket for my cigarettes. I wasn't going to say what I was thinking right in front of Sarah's friend. I knew that girl would have every word out of my mouth all over town before sunup if she could. Not that I gave a shit what anybody thought of me, but I didn't need people knowing my business with Sarah.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Madison, okay?" Sarah said, then turned back to look at me. Her friend waited for a few seconds before squeezing Sarah's hand and mumbling something to her, then walking away.

When Madison was finally out of earshot, I tossed my cigarette away and walked toward Sarah. "Gotta work tomorrow night?" Sarah nodded and wandered closer to me, her eyes slowly roaming across my face and chest and down to my feet then back again before looking me in the eye once more. Then she was close enough for me to reach out and touch her.

The light of the moon made her skin glow and I ran my finger along the bared patch between the top of her pants and her thin T-shirt. Her skin was so smooth and soft. I hooked my finger in her waistband and pulled her the rest of the way into me, then slid my other hand down over her tight, round ass.

She pressed against me, hip to hip and chest to chest, and her lips against my throat. I liked the feel of her, everywhere, doing what she wanted and loving it. Sarah was unlike any other girl I'd ever known. She didn't second-guess her wants and needs and whether it was right or wrong—she just took what she wanted, and she wanted me.

She hummed. "You smell so good," she said, standing on her tiptoes in those little, flippy sandals girls wear, running her nose up under my jaw. Damn, she was a tiny little thing, but solid and strong. I'd never seen such a little girl do the shit she did on that pole. Still, she was softer than anything I'd ever felt, with curves for fucking days.

I smiled and groaned out loud when her teeth scraped over my collarbone. She seemed to like that spot. Then her hands ran over the front of my shirt, her fingers dipping inside between the buttons.

"My cousin told me more about your bar fight," she said simply, lightly twisting the fabric of my shirt, and I froze.

It wasn't like I didn't think she'd ever find out, or like I was trying to keep it from her; I knew what I'd done, and so did everybody else within 50 miles of Gainesville, Georgia. I just didn't expect her to say it outright like that, since everybody else I knew tiptoed around that piece of my past like it was a landmine. But Sarah wasn't everybody else.

"I know it wasn't your fault," she said, looking up at me with certainty. "I don't even wanna know the whole story, so don't start telling me anythin' you don't wanna. I just wanted you t'know that I know, I guess."

She didn't ask, and I didn't think it mattered that I give her all the details from that night. We stood in silence for a few beats before I told her how I'd served only 10 months of my 2-year sentence, but was still on probation. She didn't even blink; she just kept looking at me like we were talking about the weather.

I relaxed into her body more and tightened my hands around her waist, then pulled her toward the passenger door of my truck. She smiled that big, pretty smile, showing her perfect, white teeth with her pink tongue pressing lightly behind.

"Gonna tell me whatcha got in mind?" she asked, letting me drag her along, gasping when I dipped my head and kissed her neck.

"Get ya naked," I told her, nice and quiet and soft like she likes, just to make her shake in my arms. I scraped my teeth over her ear, too, for added effect, then spun her and started walking her backward. "Fuck ya in my truck." I took a mouthful of the sweet, soft skin of her shoulder between my teeth.

Sarah drew a shaky breath. "Okay," she said.

I pushed her back against the door of the Ford and slid my hands up her sides, under her shirt. Her skin prickled and I laughed a little bit, making my body flush with hers and planting my hands on her hips. "Seventy degrees out here, girl. You cold?"

Sarah shook her head and gritted her teeth and yanked at the front of my shirt. She pulled me down until she was kissing me, sliding her wet tongue inside my mouth and scraping her teeth over my lips. I braced my hands on the side of the truck and went with it—her mouth on mine, slow and hot. She started making those sounds again, too, and my pants got tighter with every little whimper.

"C'mon," I said, pulling away from the kiss and opening up the passenger door. I helped her up into the truck and ran my hand down her arm and thigh, just to make sure she was all in, then slammed the door shut.

The drive to the park was 30-minutes. We didn't talk a lot, but Sarah told me she had another good night, moneywise, and hoped that kept up. She laughed when she told me that Madison asked her about the night before, saying Madison seemed extra interested in the details involving me.

"Where are we?" Sarah asked when I finally pulled off the road and cut the engine.

"Place nobody'll bother us." I shifted in my seat to face her. "What time ya gotta be home?"

She looked at me and shrugged. "Whenever ya get me there," she said with the kind of look on her face that said she wasn't in a rush, that she was comfortable right where she was, like she belonged in the cab of my truck. But I wanted her in the bed.

The night before, I'd thought her eyes were green, but they were like a kaleidoscope in the full moon light—flecks of gold and blue and black, spiraling, pulling me in and keeping me there. I watched her as I reached for the door and popped it open. Then she followed my lead and let herself out the passenger side, meeting me at the tailgate.

I opened the back of the pickup and leaped up into the bed, then reached down to help her up. "Packed some food and beer," I told her, once she was standing at her full height, the top of her head barely meeting my chin. "Ain't like that fancy champagne, but it'll do."

She looked up and smirked at me, her eyes drooping a little. "Don't gotta be fancy," she said quietly. "I'm here for the comp'ny." She dropped her bag to the floor of the truck bed, closed her eyes, and rolled her shoulders.

I started having second thoughts about taking her out there. It'd be sunrise before she got to sleep again, even if the night didn't turn into a fuckfest like it had the night before, and I was pretty sure it would.

I reached out and squeezed her shoulder where it met her neck, and she groaned. "Tired?" I asked, knowing it was a dumb fucking question. Hell, I was tired and I hadn't been lifting myself up and spinning around a pole for a bunch of drunk assholes for six hours.

She nodded and sighed, leaning into my hand. "Turn around," I said, and she didn't hesitate.

She dropped her head and relaxed her shoulders, letting me dig my thumbs into the tight knots there. She started making those sounds again, and my pants started getting tight again. I needed to get her fed before I just threw her down on the steel and fucked her until sunrise. I huddled up behind her, though, changing the angle and feeling that perfect ass of hers brush against my legs. She had to be able to feel how hard I was, right against her.

"Keep that up and we'll be havin' dessert 'fore dinner," she said, that sleepy, sweet smile on her face, as she lifted her head and twisted a little to look at me.

I pulled my hands from her shoulders, letting my fingers hang back on her skin for a bit. She was so soft and warm. "Yeah—let's get ya fed."

She smiled and nodded, glancing around the bed of the truck. "And a beer, right? I could go for a cold beer."

I'd strapped my cooler to the head of the truck bed, and packed a sleeping bag, a couple camping pillows, and a mattress. I didn't have a lot of experience making plans with girls, but I had a plan for Sarah, and I'd been thinking about it for hours. Once we were settling down, I was starting to wonder what the fuck I was thinking trying to impress a girl with a stupid, fucking camping trip to watch the sunrise.

"Never been here before," she said, taking it upon herself to reach for the bag of bedding and pull it open. "It's pretty out here—quiet. Clear night, too." She looked at me again and smiled, taking out the pillows and tossing them at her feet.

I watched her set up a makeshift bed for us out of the corner of my eye, as I pulled out a couple of sandwiches and some cut up apples. The beer I brought was in the bottom of the cooler, sunken in the ice bath, and I was glad it would be nice and cold for her.

I spread the food out on the sleeping bag and popped open a couple beers, keeping one eye on her as she kicked her flimsy, little sandals to the side. Then she sank to the bed, Indian-style, and grabbed one of the sandwiches. She took it from the wax paper I'd wrapped it in and was digging in before I even got mine open.

"Mmm." She closed her eyes and groaned into her first bite. I didn't really know what to put in the sandwich for her, if she even ate meat, but guessed I'd done the right thing. "Daryl, baby, this is amazin'. God, I'm always so hungry after work."

I nodded and took a bite of my sandwich, watching her enjoy her food. We ate and drank, listening to sounds of the woods around us. I'd pulled up into a small open space, where I used to sleep sometimes as a kid, whenever shit went south with Mama and Daddy. Sarah was right; it was quiet there.

She finished her sandwich and her beer, swiped at the corners of her mouth with her fingers, and stifled a belch. "Thank you," she said. "That was way better'n anything I'd'a come up with at Haley and Justin's. Those two need some help in the shoppin' department. Guess I need t'step up more."

She stretched and shifted and leaned back into the camping pillows and mattress, talking about how much she liked to cook. I finished my food and grabbed my beer, watching her wiggle her toes and flex her feet. "You cook a lot?" I asked.

"Not as much as I'd like," she said, tucking one hand under her head and looking me in the eye. "Why don't ya lay down here with me, baby?" She reached for my hand, and I did like she asked.

I rolled to my side, setting my beer on the cooler at our head, and resting my hand on her firm, flat belly where her T-shirt rode up. Sarah was tan, but not too tan. She looked like she'd just walked off the beach all the time, though, and not just because she was glowing; she was just so damn relaxed and natural.

I slipped my fingers up under her shirt and slowly cupped one of her round tits. My thumb slid up and over her nipple. The bra she was wearing was really thin, and I could feel her nipple, hard and tight, under the fabric.

She raised the free hand that wasn't propping up her head, tucked her fingers in my hair, and pulled me closer. "Your hands, baby… Shit." She arched her back, pushing her tits up and out, making it easy to take the one I wasn't playing with inside her shirt into my mouth. I sucked on the cotton, getting it wet, pulling it and her hard nipple between my teeth and pulling. "Fuck," she breathed.

I moved over her, pushing her shirt up and pulling her bra out of the way, cupping both her tits in my hands, sucking and licking her nipples. I couldn't fucking get enough, and she liked it, too. "The clasp's in the front," she said, gripping my hips and spreading her legs, pulling me between them.

I popped the clasp open and her tits spilled into my hands. I buried my face between them, licking and biting, and settled my hips in the cradle of her thighs. My elbows braced on either side of her body, and I bucked against her, my belt snagging on the thin cotton of her pants. Her hands left my hips and moved to her own, pushing at her waistband.

I moved back to help her, and we untangled her from her bra and T-shirt. Sarah tossed everything aside, and she was finally naked. Jesus Christ, she was fucking gorgeous—tight, round curves and smooth skin.

She climbed to her knees, working on my shirt with one hand and my pants with the other. Then she was kissing me again, her mouth, lazy and warm and wet against mine, as she shoved my shirt off. She kept kissing me as she pushed my pants down to my knees and gripped my dick in her hand—hard.

"Tha's good," I heard myself say around her lips, and I put my hands in her hair. I wanted to see if it was as soft as it looked. I wanted to feel something soft while she jacked me off. Shit, she was working me good and fast.

She moaned when she changed position kissing and stroking me, like it felt good to her. It all felt good to me, so I shouldn't have been surprised that she liked it, too. She got closer, then, wrapping her free hand around my neck, sucking on my bottom lip. I groaned, dragging my hands from her hair over her shoulders and down to her hips. "Lay back, girl," I said, and she stopped kissing me, but kept her eyes on mine. She did what I asked, laying back down where she was before. "An' keep those pretty legs open wide for me."

I kicked my boots off and shoved my pants, underwear, and socks off in one go. Sarah leaned back on her elbows, knees bent and legs open wide, just like I asked. I hummed. "Tha's  _real_  good, girl." I pulled one of her ankles until she dropped from her elbows to flat on her back. She smiled and arched upward, stretching, and burying her own fingers in that soft hair of hers. "Gonna get what ya want now, Sarah."

I fell to my hands and knees over her, and kissed her. I couldn't remember a time when I kissed a girl without her kissing me first, but I liked the way Sarah kissed. I wanted more.

I reached one hand down to her pussy, slid my fingers down her slit; she was so fucking wet. That girl was always so wet. I slid my fingers inside her, and she clenched around them. "C'mon, baby…  _please_." Sarah begged and bucked her hips again.

I kissed her harder, sliding my first three fingers in and out of her, one at a time, nice and slow, getting them wet and making her wait. Then I pressed my thumb over her clit and started circling. "Wanna come like this?" I nipped at her jaw and kissed her throat. "Or ya want my cock?"

Sarah whimpered. "Fuck me." She moved her hips up and around, searching for something.

I couldn't help but smile at how much she wanted it. She'd been so good to me—so honest and she didn't play games—and I'd give her exactly what she wanted. I wasn't into playing games, either, but she looked so pretty when she begged.

"I will," I said, tasting her skin as she started working up a sweat. "But ya gotta tell me how you want it."

I swear she growled, grasping for anything she could hold onto. "Your  _cock_ ," she said, pulling my bottom lip between her teeth. "In my  _pussy_. Right  _fuckin'_  now."

Then I stopped playing. I took my dick in my hand and slid home.

" _Yes_ ," she hissed, and wrapped her legs around my waist. We lay like that for a second, nice and warm, closer than I could ever remember being to anybody. "Move, baby. Please," she said, kissing my neck.

I braced myself on my forearms and started to move. I wanted to kiss her again, too, so I did. I kissed her and felt her tighten and swell around me, and listened to her make those sounds that made me harder as I fucked her slow and deep.

"Daryl," she whined and shifted under me. "I… you feel…  _oh, my god_." Her hands were everywhere. I kissed her and slid my fingers over her smooth skin as it glowed blue and white in the moonlight. Then she tightened her legs around my hips. "I'm coming, baby."

Damn, I couldn't wait to feel her come. I started fucking her harder, but just as slow and deep. Then I felt her clenching fast and hard.

"Fuck." I couldn't breathe for a second, but I kept sliding in and out, feeling Sarah come. I'd never felt anything like it. The way she came under me made me come harder than I had even the night before. I was fucking shaking.

"Baby," she said, letting her legs slide from my back and fall open at her sides. "That was… Jesus, I didn't know we could top last night." She rested her hands against my chest and kissed me.

I pulled out and away from her, rolling to my side and dragging her with me. "Me neither." We lay still and quiet, staring up at the stars. Sarah's breathing slowly became heavy and steady, and her body relaxed even more. I knew she was asleep. I pulled the sleeping bag over us in the cool night air, soaking up her warmth, trying to fight my own sleep, just to keep feeling what I was feeling.

A few hours later, she woke me up, straddled my hips and rode me until the sun came up. I watched the light spill over the mountaintops and the peaks and valleys of Sarah's body, and I started thinking about all the things we could do together in the light of day. I started making more plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End notes: I owe so much of my sanity and my ability to form words into sentences for this fic to Rhanon Brodie, who reads and reads again through these chapters before you all do, leaves brilliant and reflective margin chat, and talks with me for hours about things that make this what it is when I post it.
> 
> MsKathy makes my writing English good and is my friend.

**Author's Note:**

> End notes: I am LMAO at how Rhanon Brodie and I are obsessing over Daryl's eye color with a thesaurus. Many thanks to Brodie for the feedback and support—and to MsKathy for the red pen and for being awesome.


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